


Stealing A Flower

by Batsymomma11



Series: Blark Files [16]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Sexual Content, Soft Boys, Virgin Bruce, Young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: “Bruce, is this your first—”“Yeah,” Bruce said a little breathless, his face going so hot he knew it would look ruby. Clark would see it even if it wasn’t broad daylight. His vision was perfect. He wouldn’t miss how shaky Bruce was or God—nervous. How his pulse was a rapid flutter of movement in the hollow of his throat and his pupils blown wide with yearning.But that was okay. That was fine.Because that was why they were here in the first place.





	Stealing A Flower

               “It’s alright,” he shifted on the mattress, trying to get comfortable, trying to find the right angle where he wasn’t sticking to the other body beside him and failed miserably.

                “Bruce, is this your first—”

                “Yeah,” Bruce said a little breathless, his face going so hot he knew it would look ruby. Clark would see it even if it wasn’t broad daylight. His vision was perfect. He wouldn’t miss how shaky Bruce was or God—nervous. How his pulse was a rapid flutter of movement in the hollow of his throat and his pupils blown wide with yearning.

                But that was okay. That was fine.

                Because that was why they were here in the first place. Why they’d snuck up to Clark’s bedroom after his parents went to the farmer’s market. Because they knew they would be alone for a couple of hours and they could—do what they’d been flirting around doing for months.

                And Bruce was ready. Honest to god, he was.

                But he was also tremendously scared. 

                “Really?”

                “Yeah, it is,” Bruce licked his dry lips, tried not to look too long into those bluer than blue eyes but found himself trapped in their warmth and drowning.

                “I didn’t know.”

                “Nobody does. It’s fine. Let’s just—let’s keep going. I don’t want to stop. I want it to be you.”

                “Bruce, are you sure?”

                “Absolutely,” Bruce murmured, face heating a few more degrees when Clark’s hands turned reverent and gripped just a tad harder on Bruce’s hips to move him to the center of the bed. And underneath Clark. Clark, who was already stripped of his shirt and quite frankly rippled in muscles that Bruce had aspirations of attaining with some hardcore training. Perhaps years down the road.

                At nineteen, he thought it safe to have room to grow. He wasn’t weak by any stretch of the imagination—but he also wasn’t like Clark. Clark oozed strength. His hands were calloused and felt nice on Bruce’s stomach as they skated down to tickle the edge of where Bruce’s boxers met the skin of his belly.

                “You’re so soft.”

                Bruce sucked in a breath, “Uh, thanks?”

                “It’s a good thing,” Clark assured, smoothing those big hands down, down till they cupped Bruce’s ass and angled his hips in a way that was absolutely mind-bending. The slow grind of their bodies made Bruce’s vision white out and a strangled sound escape his lips.

                “You okay?”

                Bruce blinked open sandpaper lids, saw dust motes floating in the sunlight filtering into Clark’s bedroom, felt his pulse thrumming in his ears and had to swallow before speaking. “Feels good.”

                “Oh,” Clark sounded pleased, “good then. Just tell me if I’m going too fast. Or if you want to stop. I won’t mind.”

                Bruce’s gaze flickered to Clark, “You won’t mind?”

                Clark shrugged, “I want you comfortable. First time is a big deal. And I don’t want to fuck it up.”

                “I’m not fragile.”

                “I never said you were.”

                “I can take whatever you throw at me.”

                Clark’s smile was soft but small. Measuring. “I know you can. But I don’t want you in over your head. I’m not exactly small, Bruce.”

                Bruce nodded, “I know. I like it.”

                Clark chuckled. The hands moved, squeezed, the grind between their bodies picked up again and Bruce slid sluggishly back to the place his mind was empty. It was all feeling. All fingernails dragging over skin, goosebumps and wet kisses that lingered on hip bones and tugged on clothing. So much sensation that by the time Bruce was naked on the mattress, he was panting and slicked with sweat.

                Desperate for more and yet exhausted by the overload of feeling. Of desire that snaked into his middle and bit down hard.

                “I’m gonna get you ready, that alright?”

                “Ready?” Bruce murmured. He sounded drugged.

                “Yeah, if you want this, you need to be ready. So, it doesn’t hurt you.”

                Bruce nodded weakly, “Sure. Whatever.”

                The loud snap of a cap opening brought Bruce’s attention to Clark, made it hold as Clark put some onto his fingers, then leaned forward to press firmly at a place Bruce had never even messed with on his own. It felt—strange. Wet but not painful. A little pleasant actually and after a few minutes Clark did something that added more pressure, more stretch and Bruce tensed up at the intrusion, hissing out a breath that sounded a little panicky.

                The movement Clark had been creating stopped, a long pause, then started up again.

                “Try and relax, Bruce. Let your muscles go lax.”

                “D-d-do we have enough time for this? Before your parents get h-home?”

                Clark nodded, his smile halfway and amused, “Yes. We’ve got plenty of time. Just try and relax.”

                Clark’s other hand came to rest on Bruce’s belly, a steady counterpressure to what was happening between Bruce’s legs and soon Bruce was actually pressing back into Clark’s fingers, wanting more. He wasn’t sure what, just knew he needed it. He wanted it.

                 At three fingers, at least Bruce was fairly sure it was three, Clark did something wicked and Bruce’s hips bucked up, a soft moan falling out of his slack mouth.

                “What was that?”

                “Prostate. Feels good?”

                “Yes,” Bruce squirmed on Clark’s hand, suddenly desperate for more. “Again. Please.”

                “Alright,” Clark whispered, angling his hand, pumping those fingers till he brushed and stroked right up against the sweet spot that had made Bruce see stars. Bruce started _moaning._

It should have been embarrassing. It wasn’t.

He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. Noises were just spilling out of him, sounding horrendously dirty but unchecked and Clark looked like he was going to explode, but he was being so patient and oh shit— _shit, shit, shit_ — “I’m gonna cum if you don’t—if you don’t stop.”

                “Do you want to like this?”

                “I—I don’t,” Bruce’s eyes were watery and his throat felt dry. He couldn’t think. He’d never felt like this before. But it wasn’t frightening it was just, god it was good. It was so fucking good. “I don’t know.”

                “Alright. Give me a second.”

                Bruce knew Clark was putting on a condom. That he was getting ready. It was the final act in a long line of acts that had led them to this point. Bruce was finally going to pop his cherry and he was doing it with someone he—well, someone he loved. And he was so fucking ready.

                Clark did something, shifted on the mattress and the springs squeaked as he adjusted between Bruce’s legs. He added more lube, then gripped Bruce’s thighs to help spread them a little wider. The burn was as pleasant as Clark’s fingers had been and when Clark pressed himself in the same spot, Bruce all but came right then and there.

                It took a bit.

                Bruce was absolutely a virgin and Clark hadn’t been lying. He _was_ big. But after long seconds and panted breaths, Clark got himself where he was supposed to be, and Bruce pushed out a breath he’d tried not to hold. But had.  

                Then Clark started moving. And it was overwhelming.

                Too full at first. Just a little too much to be comfortable or good and on the wrong side of painful, but then Clark found that sweet spot, the one from before, and one of his hands was wrapped around Bruce, giving soft languid pumps that made Bruce want to howl and everything flipped into so fucking good, so very quickly, he was stunned.

                He was like an insect that flew too close to the light or a bird who hit a window at top speed. The feelings going through his body, pumping through his blood, were visceral. He gorged himself on it, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck, burying his sweaty face in the crook of Clark’s shoulder.

                It could have been hours. Or seconds. Bruce couldn’t tell, not with how fast everything was suddenly going. In the back of his head, he wondered if he’d gone too soon. If he was quicker than the other men Clark had been with. Maybe too quick.

                But those thoughts were minute in comparison to the blinding pleasure. It surged like a waterfall, up through his toes, his legs and stomach, wrapping cruelly in his chest till he had no choice but to either cry out or bite his tongue clean in half.

                It was the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced. Hands down.

                When Bruce’s mind floated back to his body, Clark was a heavy weight on top of him. A heavy panting, sweaty, weight that felt as real as the sheets beneath him and the summer breeze that was drifting in to cool their feverish skin.

                “That was—amazing.”

                “Yeah?” Clark laughed, lifting his head, eyes shining brightly in a smile as he peered at Bruce through thick black lashes. God, he was beautiful.

                “Yeah. Not what I was expecting. But great. Better than great.”

                “Ten out of ten?”

                “Twelve out of ten. Let’s go again. Right now.”

                Clark snorted with laughter, rolling to free Bruce and making Bruce wince as he suddenly felt all the little stinging grievances in his body he’d not felt so high on bliss. Perhaps they wouldn’t be going again, right now, but after a day or reprieve. Or when he could manage to sneak back out to the farm. He was on Spring Break and his time was his own. He’d convinced Alfred to allow him to stay with the Kents rather than come back to the manor.

                He’d never felt like this about someone before. Part of him was concerned it was just because of the sex. Anyone would form an attachment to their first. But deeper than that, Bruce felt the thrill of knowing it was much, much more than that. Clark was special. Clark was—the one.

                “Bruce?”

                “Yeah?”

                “I uh—I want you to know that even though you aren’t my first, it’s different with you. It’s—”

                Bruce rolled to his side, feeling drowsy and a little lost in his thoughts. “Special.”

               “Yeah. It was. I—I want to tell you something. And I don’t want you to freak out or anything but I feel like, I feel like I should say this.”

               Bruce frowned, “Spit it out, Clark.”

              “I—” Clark was biting his lip, looking tremendously ill all the sudden and Bruce knew. Bruce knew what he was going to say and abruptly he _wanted_ Clark to say it. Because he felt the same way. Because it gave a name for this thundering fluttering in his chest and the liquifying of his bones. “I love you.”

              Bruce’s mouth twitched up into a smile, his eyes dancing over Clark’s face. “I love you too.”

             “Yeah?”

              Bruce rolled his eyes, “Yes. I wouldn’t have said it back if I didn’t mean it. I love you. Now, help me find my clothes before your parents get here.”

              Clark blinked, rolled off the mattress then darted around the bed to start collecting pieces. They got dressed shoulder to shoulder on the mattress, squeaky springs and all. When the Kent truck pulled into the driveway, both Clark and Bruce were already in the living room draped all over each other watching a movie.

               If Martha or Jonathon noticed the dark bruise of a hickey peeking out of Bruce’s Volcom t-shirt or the almost permanent flush that seemed to color his cheeks with Clark at his side, they never said so. It was the best week Bruce could remember having.

               

**Author's Note:**

> Young love is sweet and I tried to capture that with this fic. I picture Bruce being nineteen and Clark actually being a little older, maybe twenty. 
> 
> Also, this piece is a little more explicit than I usually do, hence the higher rating. But it's not my norm, nor will it suddenly be. It just seemed to suit the way I wanted this scene to come across better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy! :D


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